Some Kind of Wicked
by rubacuori
Summary: Gumball Watterson is struggling academically and socially. Based off a true story.


**A/N: This is kind of a tiny sequel to** "Some Kind of Wild."

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 _Some Kind of Wicked_

 _by rubacuori_

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to you, my reader!

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I wrote the poem to be about a boy who was always talking and who didn't like being restrained by bitter folk who didn't understand him. I wrote the poem to be about a boy so smart he could fix anything with a couple of steps, about a boy so smart that he could patch up broken hearts, even if he'd been the one to break them. I wrote the poem to be about me. I know who I am.

Gumball Watterson's face was rubarb. His chest was rising and descending, and a grave fog had covered his whole figure. His bright nose twitched, his dull eyes were wet and they were crumpling from the heaviness. He hated them all. He hated it here. Don't do this don't do that. Do you want me to be myself or the "self" desired by you? Do you want me to be happy or do you want me to be perfect? That's got no middle.

The doctor had skimmed, SKIMMED, his files before her lips dwindled seriously and she said the LABEL, the LABEL, the LABEL.

"Looking at Gumball's history," she did not GLANCE at him. "It would seem like he has ODD."

Gumball opened his thumb. Oppositional. His pointer (finger.) Defiant. His middle (finger.) Disorder. Another oh so generous addition to my FACE. It's all written in my face for the world to read. He walked out of the classroom so they couldn't see it and he could see sweeter things like the color red, the color of cherry lollipops and magic shoes in that movie he watched when he was so young, so young and no one knew he'd come out WRONG. He blurted but he was beautiful. He talked so much but he was so funny and cute. But then he started to change. He got resentful, disobedient, unkind. He didn't see the issue. His mother and father gave in eventually. And everything made him so mad he couldn't control it.

Now he was fourteen. He is so so young. But they expect stuff he can't offer. They want all the right moves. My moves are random. They move how they want and I can't fight it. He was quieter now. He did not get into trouble, Gumball Watterson was never grounded, never ordered to detention, but Gumball Watterson was quietly planing his revenge. He was never happy.

What will you do in the future Gumball? I'd like to be a teacher, actually. And why would they consider you? Because I am good at heart. I can be good. I want to work with special ed. kids.

Gumball built worlds with sticks and hit all the notes when he sang. Gumball always had something to pick out of his pockets and say, weapons and small gifts and little pranks. Gumball loved Darwin more than anything. Darwin was loved like no one has ever been loved but sometimes he barely saw that affection that does EXIST. It EXISTS. There's nothing much WRONG with him.

Why is myself incorrect?

Miss Simian yelled after him but he just bolted. He ran and all around him the lockers transformed into weeping willow trees that cried happy tears and enshrouded him in their big gaiety. He imagined leaves spinning and dancing in slow motion as he so slowly twirled next to them in a leap. Unpause. Play. He was running again, his arms kicking up and down. Arms can kick! And his legs went faster and while the teachers gathered a route to stop him, he sprinted out one of the school's doors and spilled his messy self into the playground. He looped around in a slackening pace, before kicking into gear once more and vanishing swiftly into town, away, away, into fairy land...

Gumball squinted at the sky. "Phone!" He chirped, pulling it out of his jacket. I didn't mean to. My god I didn't. I'm a freak.

My trantrums last hours. He cries hysterically. The other children don't like him. The doctor SKIMMED his file. All these other people are so mean and dumb. I don't like them. I'm not a sympathetic character. I'M NOT IN A COUPLE OF PAGES. But I must be to make things organized. Put everything and everyone into a little box. I understand I fit into the box but I don't understand why. I don't understand why I can't do what I want. Why can't I? I stroll along the gray path. How am I like this? Whatever THIS is supposed to be. I don't belong in a little box. It's their fault for being shit.

Isn't it? Gumball was depressed. He took eight pills a day. I walk around town alone and do what I want. I don't know how I got to that point. I think I am starting to see I have done wrong but I can't control it. His heart folded smaller into his chest.

ODD. What happened to you, Gumball?

The world went white and he was changed forever. Now was forever.


End file.
